


Under The Lights

by DarchangelSkye



Category: American Idol RPF, Music RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Awkward Crush, Busking, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, Fame, Interviews, M/M, Mardi Gras, Masks, Meet-Cute, Music, New Orleans, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Paparazzi, Work In Progress, alternate universe - different careers, this will have every cliche in the book and I don't care who it offends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-03-12 01:38:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13536927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarchangelSkye/pseuds/DarchangelSkye
Summary: Dalton Rapattoni has bounced back from troubling experiences as a teen star to become a respected actor. MacKenzie Bourg is just scraping to get by in New Orleans after his healthandhome have been knocked around by life, busking once in a while even if he knows it's a far-reaching dream. When Dalton comes down to Louisiana for filming and the pair meet by chance during Mardi Gras, it quickly turns into a whole new life for both of them..





	1. I: Dalton

When you're thousands of feet in the air, every city looks the same no matter how beautiful it is when you finally touch down. I gazed out my window at the maze of buildings and streets that was going to be my home for the next while.

I guess I should give some kind of introduction, in case you've been living in a cave on Mars or something for the past few years. I'm Dalton Rapattoni. Every entertainment publication calls me one of the most resilient and in-demand stars, and I guess there's some truth to that, even if I really don't like inflating my own ego.

I've been surrounded by the business pretty much since puberty. I was one of the main cast members of the Disney Channel sitcom _IM5: The Road to Hollywood_. It was about a group of high school guys who'd formed a boy band and every episode revolved around typical sitcom hijinks of trying to raise money or get bigwigs to notice us, all while juggling our families and school and various girlfriends-of-the-week. _Masterpiece Theater_ it wasn't, but it struck a chord- especially with easily star-stuck girls- and the guys and I were quickly catapulted into Disney royalty. Starlets fluttered around us, we had enough Kids and Teen Choice Awards to choke an elephant, our faces were plastered on every conceivable item of merch, and we'd even recorded a couple CDs of cheesy pop songs and did mall tours like we were The Monkees or something. It was the greatest thing ever and the worst thing ever.

I hate sounding like those celebrities who go "Boo-hoo-hoo, I have millions of dollars and I'm still unhappy", but it was not all sunshine and roses behind the scenes. Not that we'd gotten pimped out or anything like that, thank christ for small favors, but you can only go so long before pressures and demands and schedules run you ragged, and I was the first to succumb. Happy birthday, here's a big ol' anxiety disorder.

My looks went quickly, no thanks to the first disastrous medication I was on. My weight started to balloon by the third season because I had cravings to hoover everything in sight, and before so many public appearances I couldn't be half-assed to put on the dark polish and guyliner that was part of my "bad boy rocker" character. Our manager really got on my case about that, especially the weight, and two of the guys- jesus, I don't wanna think about their names now- were ruthless with their insults until it time for cameras to roll again, then they wanted to act like my bestest buddies in the world. Screw that.

Keeping my anxiety a secret because Hollywood didn't care about mental health then like it does now was the pits, and so was keeping my sexuality secret. Yeah, I'm into guys. No big deal to me. It just happened. But even if my family and the cast members I was _not_ fighting with loved me for being honest, management and crew pretty much wanted to sew my mouth shut. It'd be bad for the brand, bad for everything we'd all worked for- maybe if I was 100% gay they could've worked around it, but half-and-half? Too controversial for the Mouse House. So it was safe to say I was miserable near the end.

If you peeked out from your Mars cave for five minutes you probably heard the story of the turning point- it was some radio station festival, a little after my seventeenth birthday, and IM5 were onstage. I was doing my solo verse in this soppy ballad that would end up being our last Top 10 single, and under the kajillion-degree lights I collapsed without even a warning from my body.

I was carted off to the hospital with the typical "exhaustion" story, and in that bed and staring at those sterile walls all I could think was _Enough, enough, enough._ So when I was well again I called the first reporter who would listen and spilled everything- the overscheduling, the health issues, the harassment, the pressure to keep so many things hidden- it was "Rapattoni, out!", out of the closet and especially out of the band.

To say there was a resulting media frenzy would be putting it mildly. Disney had even attempted to sue me and my family for breach of contract, but that was quickly dropped after an outcry. At any rate, I was able to grab my remaining royalties and head back to Dallas to finish schooling at home. The sitcom limped along for another half-season without me and then everything disappeared. The damage was done, IM5 was no more than a mere footnote in pop culture history.

After I'd been able to relax at home for a while, offers came sniffing around again, this time for a movie. It was an indie gay romantic drama about boyfriends from different sides of the tracks, like some all-human _Lady and the Tramp_ , and the scriptwriter had actually liked my acting and thought I'd be perfect as the rebel boyfriend with a heart of gold, would I be interested?

My parents and I had a long discussion over this. I knew they were afraid I'd be burned by the business again, but there was something in me saying I _had_ to do this, to prove I was in control now and knew what I was doing. So after finding a new manager who was much more scrupulous, I signed on to the flick and found relief. I didn't have to hide my personality. I could actually be _myself_.

The critics noticed that as well. The blend of humor and vulnerability I could now show on camera resonated hard, and that began my second life as an actor with project after project. Not exactly A-list, but recognizable enough. And since I swing both ways, I could kiss anybody on camera and make it look natural; I was a casting agent's dream. Being able to talk openly about my experiences and emotions made me an icon, especially for young people who felt before they didn't have anybody to look up to. Hell, there's buzz if I keep my streak up I could win an Oscar before I hit thirty.

Not that that last tidbit mattered much to me. For the first time in years, I was just happy with my life, even if I was never gonna be a "normal" guy again. Who needed normal?

The plane slowly began descending. Soon I'd be moving into my temporary New Orleans apartment during the craziest time of the city's year.


	2. II: MacKenzie

I woke not to my alarm clock, but to early partiers already whooping it up in the streets. And I wouldn't be able to join them for hours yet. I grumbled and debated just rolling over and going back to sleep, but the cafe was the only reliable source of money I had right now. 

The Bourg family tree has branched around New Orleans and the surrounding area for generations- including me, MacKenzie- but it's not like we're old money or anything important. We were just people who found a home.

Not that old money would've mattered if we had it. I was twelve when Hurricane Katrina hit, and that banshee wind didn't care what you had to your name. No one in my immediate family died, but homes and memories were swept away forever and left us in the pits of despair. Even after we managed the bare minimum of rebuilding I feared it'd all be taken away again. I still have nightmares, panic attacks at every heavy breeze and rainfall, have moments where I just want to curl up into a ball and cry for hours about how unfair life is. Hell, I was even physically ill for a long time no thanks to the contaminated water. It's safe to say I was among the thousands and thousands of people left a bit permanently messed up.

Music was a saving grace. My older brother's guitar was one of the few things we'd been able to grab from home, and in the shelter he'd pluck any tune to keep all the kids entertained. Even sadder songs took some of the sting away, the way he played them. When he went away to college he left the guitar with me, and I basically taught myself to play. Being sick left me unable to take part in so many of the sports I wanted to, so here was something I enjoyed doing, even writing my own songs and busking around as I got older. I didn't have to think about anything else or worry when I was lost in melodies, whether I played them on my hands or the record player I loved where scratchy blues floated from its speakers.

But busking doesn't pay the bills. If I ever had any real career ambition it died years ago with the storm, so I just learned the basic skills to do retail and restaurant work and bustle around to whatever place would take me. Whatever kept the small apartment roof over my head and the minimal amount of daily food in my body. Work was to fill in the blanks in between playing. 

Of course in New Orleans, there's performers on every street corner, and it's worse during Mardi Gras and the summer. And even if I like to think I can carry a decent tune, I don't have anything flashy about me to get peoples' undivided attention. I'm not special and I never will be. Dreams are reserved for special people. Special people can keep it together at least most of the time.

I finally managed to haul my plain and boring self out of bed and looked out my apartment window at people dancing in the streets below. _Laissez les bon temps rouler_ indeed. I always thought the colors were beautiful, but right now they just stung my eyes.

I sighed and started to dress. I was sure after work or I could be in a club or on the streets and dance with some people and make like I was having the time of my life.

Funny in a city this big and crowded that you can still be lonely.


	3. III: Dalton

Of course a city as big as N'Awlins would have apartment complexes for every budget, and of _course_ it was decided a star like me needed the best. By mid-afternoon everything I'd need to be comfortable for the next stretch of time was moved in, and once it was 100% certain I was safe and secure, I was left alone to presumably eat and get some beauty sleep. 

For about half an hour I was laying on the living room sofa, idly flipping through the script of my current project, a drama about the interconnecting lives of students at a dance academy. Dancing wasn't my strongest suit even during the IM5 days, but that's why close-up doubles were invented. That and Will, who turned out to be the best friend I could ever make in this crazy business, helped keep me in shape enough with some basic moves.

I set the script down, scrolled at least some of the kajillion notifications on my phone, then put that down too with a sigh. It really didn't help that I could still hear plenty of whoops outside. 

My windows weren't very large, supposedly to discourage potential voyeurs, but I took a look down in the street to see people dancing and laughing without a care in the world. Yeah, even if I said I was never gonna have a normal life again, I still had my moments of wishing. I mean, it's only human, right? 

A lot of the townsfolk were wearing masks, from the basic face shapes to some festooned with flowers and glitter and feathers a foot high. I figured many of them were probably acting, pretending they could be whoever they wanted without judgement-

"Masks," I suddenly said to myself. 

The lightbulb had turned on. In terms of craziest things I'd done it'd definitely crack into the top ten, and my usual bodyguard would have a stroke- but what was the point of being in the middle of Mardi Gras without even living it up just once? 

I tore through my luggage to get what I needed, coming up with an eyemask intended for sleeping, a pale-colored washcloth that could be sacrificed as a decoration, and the emergency sewing kit that was from Mom along with the mini first aid kit because she always wanted me prepared for whatever. 

Probably not what she had in mind.

After some fussing with the thick fabric, I managed to cut eyeholes in the mask, then circle and feather shapes from the washcloth to sew around the edges. It looked like a Home Ec project but would cover me up, never mind that my heart was beating like crazy that I was doing something this impulsive. I could either get mobbed to death or have the time of my life.

Stars are nothing if not unpredictable. 

After changing my clothes into a more festive getup, I slipped the mask on in the bathroom mirror. The green bits flopped everywhere, ensuring I wouldn't have a third career in fashion anytime soon, but the desired effect was achieved: Dalton Rapattoni, anonymous party boy.

Quietly I slipped out the door, like any sudden footfall was gonna spring an alarm for the bodyguard to come tackle me. Once I was halfway down the stairs, I could breath in relief. First I'd grab a quick bite at a cafe somewhere, then it's onwards to the party until the rest of my body's caught up with the speed of my heart and the blood in my veins.


	4. IV: MacKenzie

An hour to closing and there was no one in the cafe. Just me, the line cook, dishwasher, and the manager in the back probably tallying the week's profits. And of course the TV hanging from the far corner of the ceiling to remind me of the party going on without me.

I leaned over the divider. "Hey, Mike, you think the boss would mind if we cut out and started our weekend early together?" I offered playfully with a wink. He's straight as an arrow far as I know, but our mutual "you know you love me" banter was a great source of amusement on rougher days.

He just laughed and started the power washer on the last dent in a pile of silverware. "Sorry buddy, gotta hang in there. Can't party if the man kills us."

"I tried," I gave a dramatic sigh and turned back to the counter. Might as well start cleaning up at least-

I paused on my tracks to the door swinging open with a jingle and a guy walking in. He must've already come off the street, given his mask with a maroon jacket, black jeans, and a shirt that gave me the impression some poor leopard was running around naked. You meet all kinds down here. 

"Hey there," I managed when he came to the counter to look at the menu on the chalkboard above me. Because on close-up...I don't know if I have the words to describe it. Despite a closer look telling me the mask was some homemade cheap thing, underneath it was a seriously attractive guy. His hair was ruffled in blond spikes, his eyes were the palest green I'd ever seen, he had a faint five o'clock shadow along his jawline and framing his mouth...and that mouth. My god. The kind of pink and plump lips that should look ridiculous on a man's face but just suited him perfectly and pursed in a pout of concentration that if it wasn't unprofessional I'd think it was inviting. 

Good god, Bourg, control yourself. 

"Hi," he finally said, and I could hear a light drawl in his accent. Didn't seem like he was from around here. "I'll have the...turkey and avocado sandwich? I know I came in kinda late."

"Oh, no, it's fine," I assured and snapped out of my crush-daze to grab the order pad. Nothing that had to be fried, baked, or boiled at least. "Would you want anything to drink with that...?"

"Louis," he offered his name. "Ice tea's fine, I'm sure I'll be drinking a lot more later."

"Amen to that." I passed the order sheet over the divider and ducked to the fridge under the counter that contained the soft drinks. And smiled to myself; I'm simple that way in that a pretty face will put me in a good mood.

Louis had taken the events pamphlet by the cash register and was reading it when I came back with a glass. Definitely a tourist, no local here would ever bother with event schedules. "Come down for the party?" I asked to make conversation as I poured.

He shrugged and laughed, a real youthful sound. "I'm actually down on business, I just got good timing."

"Cool." I passed the glass to him and he gripped, fingertips brushing for a split second. 

I wish I could say I felt the big electric soulmate spark, but that's the stuff of fairytales and I had no business believing in them anymore. But the touch was so...nice? Comfortable? Ugh, I'd been by myself for way too long. Pretty face was messing with my head. Least my own face was staying neutral or I know he would've looked weirded out.

Soon enough I was saved by the order bell dinging behind me and I could pass him his sandwich. "Man, that looks great! Thanks." Louis reached for his wallet and pulled out a bill that when he handed to me I saw could've easily paid for three of his order. "Keep the change..." he glanced to my chest where I remembered my nametag was, "MacKenzie."

Wink.

Oh, whoever this guy was, he was smooth.

He took his food to a small nearby table- still keeping his mask on, I noticed- and I just tried distracting myself by continuing to clean up front. Getting nervous around strangers is _not_ an admirable trait for working with people, and usually I can hide it, but when you have years of bad luck and confidence issues, suddenly getting thrown off-guard can put a wrench in things.

The TV came back from commercial and was showing a costume contest going on in some bar, and I noticed Louis watching as well between bites. Wherever he was going later, I'm sure he was gonna have a blast.

"Say, um...Mack?"

Wait, he was asking for me? What did I do? Was something wrong with the food? I fiddled with the cash register key with cold hands and leaned over the counter. He was still smiling. 

"Yeah?"

"I dunno if this sounds weird but...I'm not too familiar with around here and if you weren't with anybody, would...you wanna check out Mardi Gras together for a bit?"

I'm not sure if he was blushing under the mask, but I didn't have the luxury of one hiding mine. Still, I had to play like I wasn't totally just turning cartwheels on the inside. Out of everybody around, he was going to trust me?

And yet...I was going to trust him. Maybe that comfortable touch really did mean something. 

"I'd like that."


	5. V: MacKenzie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes I know a tag is "Alternating POV" but there will be some bits where someone has two chapters in a row depending on what the particular moment/scene is. #trustmeIknowwhatIamdoing

Louis stayed around for the cafe to properly close up. He voluntarily offered a little more info on himself- he was born in Dallas, which explained the accent, but lived in California for a few years while his parents were "doing business" and sometimes he got to run into famous people, which was pretty cool. "And where're you from?" he eventually asked.

I felt a bristle up my spine, but not in anger. It's not like he had any way of knowing... "I had to change houses because of the hurricane, but I've always been here otherwise," I said simply. 

"Oh." His smile dropped, an expression that just looked wrong behind his colorful mask and for his bright eyes. "Yeah, that was really awful to watch. I'm sorry, man."

"Don't be," I shrugged and smiled like I was over it. I didn't need pity, and he wouldn't make all the lingering effects go away, presumably nice as he was. Right now I just wanted to enjoy myself. 

Once out of the cafe, we were greeted with a blast of jazz music; the night was still young yet. Louis gently tugged on my cuff towards the direction of a street vendor. "You need a mask too, it's not Mardi Gras without one," he insisted with that full-lipped smile. Smooth _and_ charming. I'm sure back in Dallas he just had people falling to his feet.

Luckily I had the kept change from his order and my own mad money to buy a mask. While I looked through them he perused the racks of jewelry, everything from the traditional beads that get tossed at women to just plastic necklaces with the charms shaped like playing cards.

I couldn't help peeking out the corner of my eye every so often, taking in details from his profile. Louis obviously hit the gym as he had some solid muscle going on, even his neck looked strong. But just like his lips were paradoxically full, his long fingers were so slender. I could picture them busying away with a pen or over a keyboard; whatever it was he did for a living he obviously made a lot of money from it.

Before my thoughts could go any further about his fingers, I brought my attention back to his jawline. It wasn't the super-sharp glass-cutting type- that was more my department if only because my face is so thin- but it looked strong as well, the type of jaw that absorbs all the punches life can throw without ever going down. Being that strong must be nice.

Soon enough I found my mask, a Phantom of the Opera-type that covered the right side of my face so I could keep my glasses on top. It was black with a lacing criss-cross pattern and white and red feathers sticking up from the ear. Way flashier than my typical taste but beautiful enough to draw me to it. After I put it on and paid the vendor, Louis grinned in the widest approval and put a set of the plastic card necklaces on me. "Now you're super-gorgeous. Ready to party?"

Someone like him, thinking I'm gorgeous. I was starting to feel like he was too perfect to be real, but holding on to his cuff in return told me otherwise. "You bet."

Oh, the colors, the sounds. Yeah, Mardi Gras is pretty noisy when you're trying to sleep, but it's the sound of the city being _alive._ Louis and I found our way down a couple blocks to where the jazz combo was playing and immediately threw our arms around each other to start dancing in crazy circles. He was surprisingly light on his feet and I couldn't help laughing out loud. How many other layers of himself was he going to show through the night?

"What's funny, honey?" he called out above the music. 

Was I actually going to say I was smitten with all this charm and mystery even if it was probably obvious? I shrugged, "I'm just havin' fun," and held his hand so he could dramatically twirl outwards, his free arm outstretched like he was flying. For a split-second I saw his eyes closed and a contented smile like I imagine most people would if they were suddenly flying free.

At some point I was out of breath _and_ starving, as my late lunch back at the cafe was pitful, so another couple blocks ahead I found a line of food vendors. Louis bought the same as me, a plate of crawfish with steamed and spicy vegetables. 

"Oh my god," I heard him murmur between mouthfuls, "this is even better than lobster."

I turned my head at that so he couldn't hear my cough trying not to be a choke. _Lobster! He has lobster often enough he can compare it with other foods! Is he one of those millionaires that likes to go slumming?_ If that was it, I couldn't make a scene or he'd be found out...there would go any chance of a good time we were having. Had to play it cool the rest of the night. 

"You okay, Mack?"

I turned back and managed a casual bite. "Yeah."

I think he believed me.

We finished our food, got drinks, and to prove I wasn't internally freaking out at all, held to Louis' hand as we continued through the streets near to where I knew my apartment building was (not that I was thinking about whether he'd spend the night or would just call a taxi once the crowds were thinner), listening to different tempos of music and watching all sorts of people- including plenty of couples- bob and dance.

Everything was normal. This was fine. I could handle it.

Right.


	6. VI: Dalton

I couldn't believe my good luck so far. Not only had the cute guy in the cafe not seen past my mask, he was my combination tour guide/date for the night and I was loving every minute! Sometimes I'd see him look the other way or fidget his hands, but I figured that was just him being shy. Honestly? It made him even cuter.

Living and working in LA, you get to see a lot of good-looking people. By their standards, MacKenzie wouldn't likely make the Sexiest Man Alive cover (this coming from someone with whispers surrounding him of rumors for being next year's contender), but he had a refreshing cuteness I was drawn to immediately. A lean body, messy brown hair, big round glasses framing eyes that even if they looked permanently tired had a rich chocolate glisten, and his smile, oh god, what a smile. Especially when he gave this husky laugh and it showed his perfect teeth off. Like, I've heard of people paying thousands of dollars to get their teeth that white and straight.

But MacKenzie wasn't just cute, he was sweet. He held to my hand while pointing out different places and talked about the history, places I doubt I'd see if I was touring tonight as a star, and sometimes I swear I felt fingertips brushing my palm. They were a little rough but in no way unpleasant. I'm a sucker for gestures like that and was doing my best not to melt- but oh, I was smitten. And me not being here for incredibly long. Crap.

Eventually we stopped somewhere a slower jazz combo was playing and people were dancing more slow and controlled. Of course there were plenty of couples, pressed close like nothing could tear them apart and some gazing in each other's eyes like it was just them in the world. 

I let go of MacKenzie's hand to carefully put my arm around his (surprisingly built) shoulder and without prompting his arm went around my waist, fingers idly playing with my jacket. I hummed in content and moved us to gently sway left and right. Even though the air was getting a little cold, my only shiver was of bliss.

"This has been really nice," he said quietly and leaned his head to touch mine. His hair was so soft, or that was just my crush talking.

"I bet you have a lotta fun," I said and not-so-discreetly lingered my gaze over his lean profile. I, who's probably gone to more parties and premieres and various shindigs than I can count, felt suddenly envious that he'd always got to be in this richly beautiful city.

"Oh, sometimes." His tone was playfully coy and he turned his gaze towards me. I had a feeling this was a side of him only a few people got to see when he wasn't so shy. His smile didn't show his teeth that moment but it was still lovely to look at, like he was the one with a secret instead of me. "Having good company helps."

The bliss-shiver trickled down to the soles of my feet, even if part of my brain was screaming it was a bad idea. _You don't want me to be good company. You don't wanna be smitten with me. I can't be smitten with you. You deserve somebody simple who doesn't have to hide behind a mask-_

Then his hand was on my shoulder and face close to mine and the cold was replaced with warmth radiating from his breath and skin.

I guess it's a no-brainer to say I've kissed a fair amount of people, both on and off camera. For a crazy moment I had the feeling I _was_ back on camera, because everything just seemed too perfect- a beautiful set where lights elegantly touched on MacKenzie's face and him looking at me like...well, like it was just us in the world. Such deep and rich eyes...

My heart beating like crazy (which does _not_ happen on camera, the novelty wears off after a while), I only had to move my face a little closer for my lips to be on his and that warmth became a slow delightful burst inside me.

It was the simplest of kisses, no tongues, lips just moving oh so slowly, but sometimes simple is best. And I don't think it was the booze talking because I'd only had one drink, but MacKenzie's thin yet soft lips felt the best.

He chuckled enough for the vibration to rumble against my mouth, and only pulled away a fraction to ask, "This is okay?"

Oh god, yes, it had to be okay. Even if this ended up just a one-nighter Cinderella dream, the low and coy tone in his voice was just dripping with possibility. Anything could happen and probably would. "Oh yeah," I breathed and closed the gap between our lips again. 

The next stretch of time was a perfect, peaceful moment to lock in my memory forever. Everything was slow and languid, our sways in rhythm to the music, the gentle smacks of kisses, even our hands carefully traveling up and down each other's backs. There was nothing gropy or grabby, not that I would've complained, but it was the best for was going on. Pure magic.

Of course, magic wears off eventually. 

"Ohmigod, over there!"

What? Oh god, no- I broke the kiss and looked to where the voice had come from. MacKenzie's "What?" was faint in my panic.

There was a trio, a guy in a shiny jacket and two girls in masks and tight purple dresses, all brandishing cameraphones right in my direction. Shit. _Locusts._

Obviously I've been aware of paps and random people taking my picture for damn near a decade. Even in my fat days they loved going on about how "photogenic" I was, for crying out loud. If I'm out shopping or something and somebody across the street is trying to zoom their little iPhone as discreetly as they can, I don't care long as they keep their distance. 

But these three were getting closer.

That is _not_ keeping their distance. 

"Dalton, who's the new man? Dalton!"

Double shit.

MacKenzie looked at me like my hair just fell out. "What's going on?"

There wasn't even time to explain that there was no time to explain. If I didn't act now, this party was going to turn into a mob scene, with a confused cutie right in the middle.

I didn't know where I was going. I just took his hand and started to bolt.


	7. VII: MacKenzie

Yeah, I'd planned to go out for a little excitement, but I didn't expect that to mean being pulled through the streets by a mystery man because people with camera phones got close. And they'd called him Dalton, not Louis. He'd lied about his name? What else was I not being told?

So there you go, Louis/Dalton/whatever-the-hell-his-name is practically barreling through party-goers with quick "Coming through"s or "Sorry"s and I'm trying to keep up, holding a death grip on his hand and thinking that barely a moment ago I was enjoying an amazing kiss.

"Are they gaining?" I heard him just above the confused din of voices.

Look over my shoulder without tripping, how could I tell with like three-quarters of the crowd in purple- "I don't know!"

He cursed and kept on running. 

The streets and people became blurred through my mask's eyeholes with running, or maybe I was having a panic attack because what the hell was going on- "Turn left!" I suddenly called out. If we were already close to my apartment building in the first place, at least we could duck somewhere safe.

I felt the change in direction and Louis/Dalton/whoever stopped for a second and cursed again. We had to be getting close, there's that street corner with the planter that's easy to miss if you're drunk or in a hurry and wham, there goes your knee. But right now I was worrying about my chest, feeling like my heart was going to burst right out of it from all this running. Whoever it was after us was going to catch up and turn this into a circus...

Soon after I'd finished that thought I saw familiar darkness fill my peripheral vision. Not the kind of darkness of passing out, but the awning over the complex's entrance. Safe. Safe. I lifted my mask, wheezed a breath, and felt around in my pockets for the key. Louis/Dalton/whoever still had his mask on and he held to his rapidly rising and falling chest as he looked out into the street. 

"I think we lost 'em..."

I had way too many questions, the least of which being whoever 'them' was. But first things first. I found my key and pulled him into the building so we could get to my room.  
It was quiet inside, everybody else likely still partying. My room is on the second floor, and I hopped two by two up the stairwell while Louis/Dalton/whoever took one step at a time, creaks behind me in a slow rhythm. It was just then I thought that I was lucky this guy didn't seem to be a crazed burglar or rapist or something. But who the hell was he? What did I get myself into?

As I unlocked the door, I heard him wheeze a breath. I turned to make sure he wasn't about to pass out or anything, and saw he'd lifted his mask. Despite his face being red from exertion, I was right about him being seriously good-looking. The straight bridge of his nose gave the whole thing a perfect triangle shape, his eyebrows were thick and dark and stylized, and even though his eyes had as many lines under them as I usually get after a long night, they didn't take away from the stunning color.

If I was supposed to be freaking out with recognizing him, that didn't happen. I was just too busy visually taking him in and wondering what to do next.

Finally he spoke, "Well, you're playing it cool, at least. I guess I can trust you."

"You're...welcome," I finished that like a question and pushed my apartment door open. The room was the same as I'd left it that morning, pale simple furniture and the fanciest item being my guitar now leaning against the couch that was folded out most of the time for when I was too wiped out to make the effort of walking to my actual bed.

Was Louis/Dalton/whoever going to be sleeping there? Or would he call for someone to get him because he obviously had the money _and_ clout for that?

And why did I even care? 

When we entered the room, he leaned against the shut door and hung his mask by its elastic on the coat rack. Its fabric decorations flopped limply and looked as worn as I felt.

"OK, you're obviously not who you introduced yourself as, or you wouldn't have run from those people- and why you dragged me with you I have no idea, but whatever. Just who _are_ you?"


	8. VIII: Dalton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy return-of-Idol day y'all, yayyyy /Kermit-flail

Was I relieved that MacKenzie didn't go into a hyper fanboy attack when I took my mask off? In hindsight, yes. It would've been just my luck my savior turns out to be an obsessed stalker and I end up chained to the bed with my legs broken. But the look from his eyes, pretty as they still were, had turned scrutinizing. Some kind of big-shot had suddenly burst into his life and he wanted to show he couldn't easily be starstruck or intimidated. Well, it was working. _I_ was the intimidated one now.

I finally sighed and told him the truth. "You're right. I just gave you my middle name 'cause I didn't want to start a mob scene if you knew who I really was." Not him I ended up worrying about. "I'm Dalton Rapattoni."

He didn't even blink. "And you're supposed to be famous or something?"

If I actually had an ego, that would've squelched it. Even though I was fourth-billed on the sitcom because alphabetical order, I was the second-most popular in terms of fan mail (including several marriage proposals for when I turned 18 from gals already in their twenties including two actresses I'll leave anonymous because frankly the whole thing was just awkward all around). Not to mention the press and accolades since then, but that was a self-serving thought. To him I wasn't famous where it counted, just where it hurt. "I've done a few movies," I said simply.

He looked down and to the left slightly, in the direction where I noticed the guitar laying against the couch. "I don't go to the movies much."

Well, there you go. Didn't look like he even owned a TV, unless that small square plug-in gadget on the side table was supposed to be it. "So you being down here for work?..." he went on.

"That's still true, I'm doing some filming. The only ones beside the studio who're supposed to know I'm here are _Entertainment Tonight_ because I'm gonna be doing a video diary with them. Guess something leaked." Whoever it was, I could kill them. I wordlessly sat on the hassock by the couch, and MacKenzie took the cue to perch his butt on the couch's arm.

Street music still played out in the distance. "Look, I was still having a great time before those idiots showed up. You're like, a pretty cool guy."

I saw the corner of his mouth twitch like he was trying to decide whether to be flattered by a star's compliment, never mind that it wasn't long ago he was being an amazing kisser. He'd suddenly put up a wall at learning I wasn't some regular Joe. _That_ did hurt.

I had to break the ice somehow. I gestured to the guitar. "Is that an...Epiphone Hummingbird?"

"Yeah." MacKenzie reached to give it a little strum at the neck, loose notes floating up, before looking back at me. "I guess you hang around a lot of rock stars."

"And I've plucked a bit." That's what happens when it's decided your character is the bad-boy rocker. Hm. Suddenly I figured I knew what was making him act so guarded. "Look, Mack, I'm not...like that."

At this point he'd slumped to sit on the couch's fold-out, and gave me a surprised look. "Like what?"

"I'm not like those phony-baloney Hollywood princes that are always in the tabloids. I don't do drugs, I rarely drink, I don't burn through money or pull diva fits or treat people like trash or have affairs all over the place, and I'm _not_ a snob." MacKenzie blinked slowly. Was the wall coming down at least a little? "I just like to have fun sometimes. I love acting, but having phonies around is a pain. You weren't being nice to me as an obligation, and I wasn't seeing as you as some hired help. Even if I lied about my name, I was still being real without worrying 'bout being judged." The next part might have been turning on the charm a little, but it was still telling the truth. "And I know I saw the real you, too."

MacKenzie looked to his hands on his knees, and for a moment I braced for impact of him telling me to just get out and fend for myself against the locusts. Then he took his guitar into his lap not to play it, but hold around it like some security blanket. That thing obviously meant a lot to him, and I could tell from his sense of rhythm while dancing he had an ear for music. Did he ever take that out to the streets?

Finally he looked back up. "I suppose I can believe you," he said with a faint smile.

Supposing was fine. A truce had been called. "Believe me enough to stay until the crowd thins a bit and I can call for my ride?"

"I won't get in trouble?"

Hell, they'd probably give him a million dollars for saving my ass, but I didn't want to say that and make him feel like some dumb groupie/babysitter. He was may too good for that. I just waved it off. "Nah, you'll be fine."

He adjusted his legs for the guitar to sit better in his lap. He looked so natural with it. I tried to imagine how he sounded singing with it but nothing seemed right in my head. "How often do you play that?" I asked.

MacKenzie's face flushed for a moment like back out on the streets, cute and shy all over again. "Oh, like...during summer or when I'm not working. It's...relaxing, I guess."

Hah, him trying to act like it was just a hobby. "Could I hear something?" I asked, tilting my head as I grinned. That was probably dirty pool since I've noticed it's a tic that makes a lot of people melt, but something in me was itching to hear Mack play. It wasn't the itch years ago that told me I had to give show business one more chance, but it was close. And that itch turned into some good things for me.

I scooted off the hassock and onto the floor so we could be eye level, thinking that was less intimidating. He breathed deeply, licked his lips, bowed his head, and adjusted his fingers on the strings. I stayed quiet, not wanting to intrude on the psyching-up ritual. Every performer has one of those. Instead I focused on details like how his eyes were closed (revealing lashes the models I know would kill for) and how his large hands treated the instrument with such delicacy.

I didn't recognize the words, so it had to be a song MacKenzie had written. It was slow and gentle, the soft rasp in his voice edged with a quiet sweetness telling a tale of lost love and hope. It was pure and could cut you to the core, but tender in that cut. For a moment the gears in my back of my brain turned with noticing things like how he'd sometimes tap a foot or bob his shoulders, but then the front of my brain told it to shut up and concentrate on the music.

The longer MacKenzie sang, the stronger his voice became, filling the room with confidence like forgetting he had somebody like me in front of him. And yet the feeling that washed over me was pure calm. It was refreshing, honest, and beautiful. _He_ was refreshing, honest, and beautiful. He was something special.

All too soon the song trailed to a soft finish, and slowly he lifted his eyelids to look at me again. The intimidated face he'd been avoiding was there, the face of someone desperately seeking approval. How to let him know he had nothing to be afraid of?

I moved closer to put a gentle hand on his knee, and he moved the guitar out of the way. The slow warmth spreading inside me, my heart beating...just like from earlier... "That is amazing," I whispered. He truly was.

His lips settled back into that cute smile, and he put a hand on the back of my neck. A large but gentle hand. There was that faint crackling in the air; if I felt myself more of a romantic person I'd be calling it chemistry...

MacKenzie silently pat a space beside him on the fold-out and I didn't feel the need to question it. Eyes still locked, we leisurely moved to lay on our sides. The room was quiet, the music outside now muted by his song running through my head, his incredible voice.

We still didn't do anything more than kiss and have our hands stay above the spine, but it was still just right. Our breaths were warm trickles on each other's faces, sometimes there'd be a nose-bump when one of us tilted our heads and we'd quietly laugh. Nobody to say "cut!" and tell us to try that again. Nobody to interrupt the moment. Just tender ease. He ran a hand over my hair and I arched only a little, but I felt like what a dozy cat must feel when it gets its head stroked, lazy and content.

"Ahh..." He pecked a kiss on my jawline and burrowed his head in the crook of my shoulder, arms around my waist like he'd held to that guitar. Before I could think about how I'd have to pry him away eventually to call for my ride, I felt my eyes grow heavy.

It was the most relaxing sleep I had in ages.


	9. IX: MacKenzie

When I opened my eyes in the morning, my first groggy thought was that I actually had a decent sleep without nightmares. Then as my vision adjusted much it could without my glasses, my second thought was _Why am I on the couch?_

My memory snapped back. It was Saturday. I'd gone out Friday night for the Mardi Gras celebration, with a guy in the cafe who'd turned out to be-

I rolled over to see the space beside me empty. Dalton was gone, presumably back to the safety of his own place. 

I sat up and rubbed the sleep-crud from my eyes, noticing the couch's afghan draped over my lap and not remembering putting that down before we slept. _He must've done that before he left._

A tired but happy smile crossed my face. At least Dalton had been nice enough, and last night was a pleasant surprise of a memory to hold to. I wasn't sure what had compelled me at first to play one of my songs for him- maybe because he'd asked so sweetly and wasn't being like some 'Hollywood phony-baloney'. Maybe because some part of me was really curious about what a professional thought of a permanent-amateur talent, the part of me that aches for approval. 

Or probably just because he was so good-looking I was bowled over. I should've felt silly, but I didn't. He was right; aside from having to run from those camera phones everything had been good. I had nothing to complain about. 

Through my half-blindness I saw the faint shape of my glasses on the side table. Huh, I didn't remember putting them there either. How the heck he touched my face and I never felt it...I fumbled to put them on and was greeted by clear vision and- a piece of paper?

It was the same paper from my fridge notepad, now covered with printing that spiked up and down.

_Hey Mack,_  
_I called for my driver just before writing this. I'm sure by the time you've woken up I'll be back at my space in one piece. Thanks again for letting me stay here._  
I explained about you and where I was, and don't worry, you're not in trouble. My crew are grateful and there's actually someone interested to chat with you. We're planning to hop over around 10:30 since I figured you'd want a little beauty sleep ;)  
_-DLR_  
_p.s. you are a fantastic kisser._

Any blush I might've been feeling was quickly cut off by the other paragraph. Ten-thirty? People coming over? I looked to the wall clock.

Jesus, it was almost nine and I was half-asleep in last night's clothes! That got me bolting off the couch in panic. After grabbing a breakfast shake from the fridge I usually saved for work mornings when I was running ragged, I headed for my pathetically small and cold bathroom to get looking somewhat decent.

As I ran the showerhead over myself, my brain was a jumbled mess of wondering. If I wasn't in trouble, why would anyone want to talk with me? Were they going to give me money as a thank-you? Designer clothes? Premiere tickets to whatever Dalton was filming? A job?

Nah, scratch that last one. That kind of thing never happens in real life. What would I even be hired for? 

I hemmed and hawed in front of my closet for longer than I probably should have to decide on clothes. There's no shortage of secondhand places in New Orleans, so at least I had some decent stuff without breaking the bank. But what would be impressive enough never mind that Dalton had already seen me casual oh god Dalton was coming back and this was no time for a panic attack.

_Get a grip, Bourg. Yeah, he's good-looking and nice and gave you butterflies, but there's plenty of people who could do that and they're not famous. He's just thanking you with...something._

Wish I knew where either those other people were or that my brain would shut up sometimes. 

I finally decided to treat this like a retail interview and settled on clean white pants and a dark blue button-up shirt. That would have to do. By the time I scrambled back to the living room to refold the couch, ten-thirty was almost near. My guitar was laying against the side where I'd left it. Should I put it away? Would they want to hear something-

_Knock knock knock._

Oh god, there he was. Ugh, why did I have to feel like some awkward prom date? "Coming!" Breathe, breathe, take a look through the peephole to indeed see Dalton waving and grinning big as life. Not helping these nerves. I wiped my hands on my legs and unlocked the door.

Dalton burst into the room like a living cartoon, a human-sized bag of smiles with an open Twenty One Pilots hoodie over ripped jeans and a black t-shirt. Before I could completely muse over how normal he looked he had his arms around me like we hadn't just seen each other about twelve hours previously. 

"Mack! Hey!" His drawl was full-on strong; he kissed my cheek with a loud smack and drew back to look me up and down. "Awww, you got all dressed up for me."

"Hello to you too," I said in quiet shock. He couldn't still be acting smitten, right? But I didn't have a chance to ask that since two people came in right after him, a man I guessed was a guard since he was super-tall and broad at the shoulders and a woman in a no-nonsense pantsuit and carrying a cross-body bag. I figured she was the interested person and cautiously extended my hand for a shake.

"Nora Cardell," she said. Her grip was firm but forgiving. "I'm Mr. Rapattoni's assistant."

"My long-suffering assistant," Dalton playfully corrected. "I trust her the most when my agent isn't around. And," he gestured to the guard, "Bruce Hayes is _the_ man, stalkers beware!"

I shook his hand too, even if his grip was like a canned ham. I grinned to hide my wince as Ms. Cardell continued, "We're all very thankful you kept our client safe last night during his little stunt." She shifted a steely gaze to Dalton and he kept aw-shucks smiling. "Lord knows it could've ended in disaster."

"Erm, yeah." I discreetly rubbed my sore hand. "Does...anyone feel like a coffee or anything?" Would they mind I only had store-brand coffee? Geez, I was thinking too much already.

"No thank you, I'm sure you'd want to start talking by now."

Bullet dodged. I moved the hassock and a chair from my small dining nook in front of the couch for her and Bruce to sit. Dalton had already made himself at home on the couch, so I shrugged and sat by him and let him put an arm around my shoulders.

And he winked again. Dammit.

"So, um," I sat up straight as I could and adjusted my glasses, trying to look professional. "What exactly were you interested in?"

Ms. Cardell opened her bag to pull out an iPad, fiddled with something on the screen, and handed it to me. I didn't recognize the website it was on, but the bright and jumbled layout betrayed it as a gossip page. That and the headline: _Rapattoni Parties With Local Musician_.

Oh.

My.

God.

I didn't want any of them to see my instantly-red face, so I kept my head low. There were two photos below the headline, one of what must've been Dalton in a photo shoot as he was leaning against a sports car and looking like James Bond in a stylish black and white suit. He was idly adjusting a cuff and gazing like something had caught his attention off-camera. It was a serious and contemplative gaze, much like what I'd seen on him after he heard me sing. So that had to be a face he pulled off naturally... But the second picture was the more important one, even slightly blurred at the edges. Obviously taken with a camera phone, as in one of that trio with the camera phones, and showing Dalton and I in full lip-lock. We still had our masks on and people were dancing behind us, yet we seemed oblivious to it all.

"You look good on camera, babe," I heard beside me.

Hmph. _Babe._ Waltzing in here and acting like we were already dating. The wall I'd put up last night threatened to come back as I read on.

 _It's Mardi Gras- do you know where your favorite Disney star turned indie heartthrob is? For our eagle-eyed scouts on the street, the answer was a resounding "Oh, yes!" **Dalton Rapattoni** recently landed in New Orleans for location filming on_ The Steps _, but decided to slip into the streets for some festivities forehand- including wooing fellow party-goers. The pair disappeared in a puff of Cinderella vapor after being spotted, but our local spies have identified the mystery man as busker MacKenzie Bourg. Maybe next time he's playing on the corner a little extra glitter has rubbed off on him! What do you all think?_

What did I think? I thought I was going to be sick. Who in the world would have seen me performing enough to recognize me from a half-blurred photo and have a connection with a gossip website to report it? "I don't even busk that much," I protested, "there's too much competition in the best areas." Also, _Disney star_? Just what the heck was Dalton's deal?

"Someone thinks otherwise, it looks like." Ms. Cardell flicked her finger on the page to scroll and I was looking at myself again, a video I'd set up of myself from last fall on a block I remembered as outside a barber shop, strumming away on a Beatles tune. A video I'd put on my Instagram account-

Uh oh.

I retrieved my phone to turn it on and was soon greeted by a rapid succession of chiming noises. Needless to say, my notifications had exploded.

Dalton chuckled beside me and I ended up turning my red face to him. At least he was looking friendly and not malicious. 

"Go on, Mack, it's really good."

Really good and _massive_. My followers number was no longer in the double digits, and "liked your photo" and "liked your video" scrolled by endlessly. And of course there were comments:

_-Hey, I've seen this guy around, didn't know he busked! Small world huh?_  
_-Do you have a YouTube channel?_  
_-you sound amaaazing omg i'm in love_  
_-awww he's a little Harry potter_  
_-a magical musician holy cow_  
_-my eyes and ears have been BLESSED thank you baby jesus_  
_-Do you have a CD anywhere?_  
_-so there's the mystery man wow Dalton has great taste ;]_  
_-wow. Just...wow. Where have you been hiding?_  
_-I've never heard a voice like this before I love it!_  
_-can you post more videos pleease I NEED to hear more of you!_

I got the gist enough. I put my phone down and looked back up to Ms. Cardell. "It, uh...looks like I got a fan club overnight." Me, a nobody who was a bundle of nerves most days. And now umpteen thousand people from who knew how many sides of this globe knew my name and how I sounded. Breathe, MacKenzie, breathe. No panic attacks in front of the professionals-

Her smile was small but knowing. "And that's why we wanted to talk to you. When _Entertainment Tonight_ is coming down for Dalton's video diary, they were curious about also filming a moment of you performing for their website. The local news station may be involved as well."


	10. X: Dalton

OK, I fess, I did let my crew know about what a great singer MacKenzie is. But I had nothing to do with the gossip page, those things are a pain in the ass most of the time. Someone over there must be a wizard, but they did something right for once.

Not that Mack was believing it; Nora mentions the TV crew and he's looking among the three of us like we're going to whip out a camera and tell him he just got punk'd. "You're not serious."

"Extremely serious, Mr. Bourg. Of course it's up to you, but given your sudden popularity we felt this would be an appropriate thank-you for keeping an eye on Dalton."

Mack looked back at me, I just shrugged and kept my arm on his shoulder. I can touchy-feely with people I like yet know when to back off...but nothing on him said he wanted my arm off, he was only confused as hell about this offer.

Did I like MacKenzie at that point? That feels like a loaded question, given the bare minimum of info we had on each other then. I guess I could call it an admirative crush. He was cute as hell and had a mostly easy manner. He felt different from the usual pretty faces and strung-out goofballs that can make up LA, and I could feel comfortable. And yeah, I didn't lie, he is a fantastic kisser. Protective wall aside, he didn't make a big deal over me being famous and trusted me at least a little. 

And that voice. Yeah, there's people with talent, but not as many with _talent_ , which he has in spades. He deserved to have more people hear him and to go far, maybe even to the top. And if a little star-power push was needed, so be it. Whatever happened, I wanted him to at least remember me as a helping friend and someone who gave him the time of his life, even if just for a night. Why not? He'd be a lot better off than he was now.

MacKenzie's eyebrows furrowed and his lips became a straight line; I could see the wheels turning in his head. For a moment I wondered if I had the same face all those years ago when considering the movie.

"Is there anything I'd have to sign?"

"Nothing more than the standard consent form for appearing on camera." Nora relaxed her hands and spread them open. "I know this sounds sudden and fantastical, but you're not being put on at all. From what I've heard you have a very likable quality, and Dalton even mentioned your songwriting skills are top-notch. Singer-songwriters are still a popular market."

"Writing-" Mack looked back at me. "You didn't."

I shrugged and pat his shoulder. "Of course I did. Y'got nothing to be embarrassed about." Whether or not 100% perfect (alright, so I was feeling a little biased in my crush-haze), those words made me _feel_. Music that came from the heart as opposed to the groin was needed right now.

He turned back to Nora. "So you're not expecting anything from me?"

"Not at all, Mr. Bourg. It's a gift of exposure for you. At the very least, you go viral for a few weeks and you can parlay that into whatever you like. Best case scenario, the start of a whole new career."

MacKenzie perched his elbows on his knees and set his chin on folded hands, and I drew my arm away so he could think properly. Every so often I saw his eyes dart around the room- the rather sparsely furnished room. It didn't take a genius to figure he was probably living paycheck to paycheck. What did he have, slinging food in a cafe and busking on streets crowded with others like him trying to be heard? That was show business? Nah. Someone talented like him deserved way better. Someone like him who'd pushed through everything he did, even if I only knew the bare minimum of details on that, deserved a chance at least.

He sat back up after a long moment. "OK...I guess I'll give it a shot. When and where?"

" _ET_ will be down Tuesday," she explained. "Do you have a particular favorite location for performing?"

"I think I can arrange something," that grin I was already seriously liking crept back onto his face and I had to do my best acting to contain my giddiness.

_Welcome aboard, babe._


	11. XI: MacKenzie

I was grateful for being given those extra days before the TV crew came. Not only did I get time to decide on what to play and arrange where to play it, I had time to fully think about just what the heck I agreed to.

At the moment it made perfect sense. A no-strings offer to have more people listening to me like I'd wanted for years, I'd have to be crazy not to say yes. Of course, once it fully sunk in- cameras. More people than I would've expected at once. A few dozen would've been no sweat, but thousands...probably millions. Yeah, no pressure at all. No chance that I'd choke and end up looking like a laughingstock and the frightened boy I always felt I'd be.

Of course, the online attention was still going. I had no way to keep up with every comment and question, so I posted a new selfie with a ramble that thanked all the new followers for coming aboard and promised some more music soon. Dalton likened it to dangling a carrot and praised how clever I was.

It was also his idea I set up a YouTube channel since so many people were asking. All I had to post so far were old busking vids, but that didn't matter as my subscriber count blew up as well. I even recognized a few names from indie singers' channels, some of them I really admired. And now they were paying attention to little ol' me.

Yeah, Dalton was still around to give me advice. He'd followed my Instagram, which caused a flurry among people when they noticed, even though I had no idea what the heck our relationship was, if we even had one. Was he expecting me to become some dizzy-eyed groupie just because he'd given me these opportunities? Was there a string attached to this deal after all? 

And yet...nothing he said so far even implied that was it.

And yet...I was still a little crush-dazed on him being so easy-going and friendly and good-looking.

Ugh. It wasn't worth thinking about. He was only here to film whatever and then he goes back to his life of glitter and people more beautiful and stable than me. Helping me out was just a pit stop. 

Of course it _didn't_ help that when the morning of the big day finally arrived, Dalton called to inform me that a driver would be coming to bring me to the cafe before I could even breathe a hello.

"Just gives you one less thing to worry about." His voice sounded a little sleep-logged, and I had to quickly clamp down on thoughts of him still lolling in some luxury bed.

"Um, thanks." I wiped a sweat-nervous hand over my hair. Damn, if I was going to start doing interviews I had to work on thinking of what to say so I wouldn't fumble so much. "Is there, like, anything specific I should wear?"

Dalton chuckled. "Well, unfortunately you're still at the point in your career you gotta provide your own wardrobe." Wow, my career. That was still trippy to think about. "You don't hafta dress like it's the MTV Awards right now. Just think clean and cool. You got a great look."

Still not helping the conflicting feelings, but it was nice of him to say so.

With enough time to spare, I rooted around in my closet. I didn't have to think MTV, but this was still TV, and that meant presentable. I eventually paired some darker jeans with white sneakers and a button-up black and white shirt, tossing on a couple thin bracelets for affect since I knew people would be looking at my hands. Thank goodness I don't bite my nails.

While I looked myself over in the closet mirror and pondered whether to add a jacket, one of the insecure intrusive thoughts decided to creep in. _Going Hollywood already? What makes you think you're not gonna look like a total idiot?_

I held to my chest and touched my forehead to the mirror. Breathe in, breathe out. This was my big day and for once I was not about to let my insecurities ruin it for me. "Stow it," I hissed through my teeth. Yeah, talking to yourself is crazy, but nobody else was here to assure me.

As if a defiant gesture, I grabbed for a jacket, this one being a red one I last wore on a date months ago. Said date hadn't been a success as the guy ended up too brash for my tastes (unlike Dalton- _stop that_ ), but I'd felt good on how I looked. Why waste an outfit?

Finally dressed, I waited by the door with my guitar held close for the driver to come. I had to remember to keep on breathing. I didn't think I was already going Hollywood, never mind what that part of my brain said. Didn't want to dream so big right away it blew up in my face. But did I want to change? Would I end up crossing the line from confident at last to outright cocky? Maybe I didn't go to the movies much, but I heard enough stories of stars who became egotistical maniacs.

At least Dalton wasn't one of them.

Dammit, I really had to stop randomly thinking about him.

I was soon enough rescued from my thoughts when the driver came knocking, a slightly older man wearing a shirt with the logo I recognized as the driving service around here people usually use if they're too sick or drunk to drive. Not that I was expecting a limo. The backseat was roomy enough for me to stretch my legs and guitar case, and the slightly tinted windows offered me a few minutes of privacy and shade.

I looked myself over in the front-facing camera on my phone. My hair's tended to stick up more the older I get, but I figured that'd be tamed before showtime. I took a quick selfie with a toothy grin as everyone seemed to agree my teeth were perfect and captioned, _On way for first interview/taped performance guess I should 'break a leg'? :)_ Enough well-wishes quickly poured in to keep me occupied to read until we pulled up to the cafe.

There was a milling of people around the entrance, and my stomach knotted and untied in the same breath. I knew they couldn't all be TV crew but potential audience. _Ease up now. Plenty of them have likely seen you busk, this'll be no different._ For once I had a rational thought to calm me as I went in through the back entrance reserved for deliveries. 

Bustling went on inside as well, cameras getting propped up and tall lights being adjusted. I barely had a moment to squint before a blonde woman in a sleeveless blue dress approached me with her hand out.

"MacKenzie, so nice to meet you. I'm Laura Hensley with _ET_."

"Hello." I took the shake, and even if her hand was cool at least neither of ours were sweaty. 

"If you could just read and sign this quick and you can go to makeup-" A clipboard with a paper was pushed under my nose and I really had to peer at the small print. The legalese was simple, that the program had permission to use today's footage of me on television and online for promotional purposes- fair enough. I hadn't been expecting massive royalties for a few minutes of film. I made sure my signature was clear on the bottom and Laura headed to a stool where another woman began fussing with her hair.

Heh. My first contract.

I was guided towards another room in the back that looked converted to a temporary green room as I saw a makeup mirror behind a crack in the door. I expected that, but didn't expect Dalton to be there once the door swung open and him grinning like he'd hit the jackpot.


	12. XII: Dalton

If that was Mack's idea of "cool", I thought I'd die from joy when I saw him _really_ dressed up. For now I scooted off the table by where the makeup and hair people had set up to give him a greeting hug. He'd looked surprised at seeing me but gingerly pat my back in return. So cute when they were shy.

"Hey, babe. How ya feeling?"

"I, guess I'm okay," he scritched the bridge of his nose. "I didn't think you'd be here."

"My video diary starts today, of course I would!" I gently clapped his shoulder. "Besides, I wouldn't wanna miss your big day." And I really meant that.

MacKenzie gave a relaxed smile. "That's real nice of you." He slipped off his glasses and sat in the makeup chair to start being fussed over.

Makeup touched and pat around his face as Hair took a comb and tested different directions for his muss to go. "No blemishes, but I do see a shaving nick-"

"Sorry, nerves," MacKenzie muttered. 

"Well, let's take care of _that_." Makeup pulled out tubes of various creams to pat over the nick, and I perched atop a delivery box to quietly watch the work.

Mack looks so different with his glasses off, and I know that wins the Captain Obvious contest but it's really noticeable. The lines on his face stand out more, especially under the eyes, and while it doesn't take away from his attractiveness he looks so tired and vulnerable it brings out every protective instinct, whether or not I should've been thinking about that at the time.

Once the nick was taken care of, Makeup started brushing powder over Mack's face and his nose twitched. "Just need a thin enough layer to keep your skin from glaring under the lights, and speaking of glare-" Uh oh, I knew where this was going. "-do you really need to wear those glasses? Some contacts with a little tint would bring your color out." MacKenzie stiffened in the chair, hands gripping the armrests and his face going red under the powder. Poor guy looked ready to panic.

Maybe I'd only known him for a few days at that point, but I figured a few things about his personality. He was shy, eager to please, went along with things to not rock the boat, but had his limits. Those walls that popped up to keep him from going too deep were understandable. Of course there was still not wanting to rock the boat, which was why he wasn't speaking up even if he wanted to.

 _Oh god, Mack, you're the sweetest boy alive, but you can't let them push you over. I learned that the hard way._ I had to be the life preserver this time. "Absolutely not," I said sternly enough to get the trio turning their heads to me. "They help him stand out. They're part of who he is."

MacKenzie blinked, face still red. I hoped it wasn't in him being mad at me. "That so?" Makeup addressed him.

"I, uh, do kinda need 'em to see," he murmured and twitched his nose again.

The pair shrugged like saying _whatever_ and went back to work. I kept a watch on his face for the blushing to slowly come down. The makeup was covering his stubble and softening the lines under his eyes and on his cheeks, but it wasn't a drastic change overall. He still looked like a real person. 

Eventually they finished and he slipped his glasses back on. The ruffles in his hair had been styled slightly upwards and to the right and sprayed into place, a lot of effort to look like no effort. He got up to retrieve his guitar and I could hear Makeup vaguely muttering under his breath while packing up.

"How do I look?" Mack asked as he approached me.

"A- _maz_ -ing," I purred my approval. "Ready to meet your public?" I held out a tentative hand. No pressure.

A moment passed as he looked to my hand, then back to me with the relaxed smile. "Uh huh." His grip was still rough but pleasant and warm.

We headed out to the main part of the cafe, and once Hair and Makeup passed by us MacKenzie said quietly, "I don't like him," and flinched like a lightning bolt could strike. 

I smiled in reassurance. "It's okay, babe, you're gonna meet all kinds an' that includes snooty kinds." And a crabby makeup artist was just the tip of the iceberg. 

"I just don't wanna change like that..." He peered out beyond the camera crew where more people were taking pictures. 

"Nobody does. But Mack-" I put my hands on his shoulders and turned him so we were eye to eye. No amount of adorableness he gave off was going to spare him a needed pep talk. "You have to learn to not be afraid to speak up for yourself. Not everyone is going to have nice things to say about you- and it's not because you're a terrible person, before you get any paranoid ideas- and not everyone you meet's gonna treat you like royalty. And yeah, people will try to mold you into something you're not. I've put up with that for years. You just gotta remember who you are. And you are?..."

MacKenzie blinked rapidly. He probably didn't me to be that profound, but there you go. "I'm MacKenzie Bourg," he said like that was the simplest thing in the world. By George, he got it.

"You damn right." I wanted to kiss him but a)makeup smudging was the pits and b)I didn't want him so nervous before his big debut. I just squeezed his hand and turned him around so he could get to the chair set up for him. "Go get 'em, babe." I slinked my way so I'd be out of the shot and could watch with pride.

Mack sat, adjusted his guitar, and took a sip from the water glass on the little table between him and Laura while the lights did a final tweaking above. The makeup did its job; he didn't glare but glowed and it was beautiful. I felt a buzzing in the gathering crowd and in the pit of my stomach. This boy was about to _happen_. 

"Everyone ready to go?" I took a deep breath and held it during the countdown for the camera lights to flash red.

"And we're here now at Cafe de Monde in New Orleans with the internet's newest musical discovery, MacKenzie Bourg!" Laura plastered on a peppy grin and faced him. "Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with us."

"Well, thanks for being interested." Mack's smile was touched with an aw-shucks shyness, but to me it was endearing as opposed to embarrassing, and I was certain when this aired later most people would feel the same way. His gaze was somewhere between her and the camera like the crowd didn't exist, and I was careful not to make direct eye contact. There'd be time for that later...maybe.

"Now, everybody is just _dying_ to know, when did you start playing?"

Mack pushed his glasses further up on his nose, another endearing move. "I guess...before senior year? Like, my brother played for fun but he gave the guitar to me when he went to college and I kinda taught myself."

God, even his origin story was so boy-next-door all-American cuteness. I mentally thanked his brother wherever he was and kept listening.

"So you have a musical family?"

"Not like performing, but, y'know, the radio or record player would usually be on to dance or sing along to. I like a lot of '60s and '80s stuff." Hmm, that explained the sweet melancholy undercurrent in the song he played for me.

"Do you enjoy playing in New Orleans? I know the living hasn't always been easy-"

MacKenzie shut his eyes and for a split second, I thought I saw a lip quiver. I clutched my stomach and made a silent grimace. I know on a show business level why Laura would ask that- to the average person when they hear _New Orleans_ , the hurricane is gonna be one of the first three things they associate with it, everyone in a certain age range has a story to tell with it, and it makes for a good "human interest" piece. But on a basic manners level I find it a dick move. It's the same as people still asking about my breakdown, like, jesus, how do you _think_ I feel? And I could tell from Mack's face his story was a lot more complicated than just having to change houses. Would the anxiety show through, throw off his performance game? 

Luckily a split second was all it took, and his expression settled into a somber smile. Just a blip, nothing the average person would notice. "No, it hasn't," he said simply, "but it's still a beautiful city, and I love the atmosphere and the people...I feel much better when I play."

Whew. Good save. Laura seemed to think so too as her peppy interview smile was staying on. I've done enough of those interviews; you could pop a jump scare at 'em and they'd still be smiling. 

"Speaking of playing, I'm sure we're all ready to hear you. MacKenzie Bourg, everybody!"

A ripple of polite applause went through the crowd and I held another breath as Mack tuned a couple strings. So far, so good, but I prayed for it to be all good. A prayer for him, not me; he deserved it. 

And when his fingers were on the chords and his eyes slightly closed again, the prayer came true when he opened his lips.


	13. XIII: MacKenzie

It was an obvious choice one of my songs would be "House of the Rising Sun", I mean, it's New Orleans, it's an unofficial law. Even with just my guitar, I'd figured out a soft and slow arrangement that relaxed me to play like I was in my own world. Didn't matter whether I was sitting by my lonesome on a curb or having a kajillion people watch me like right now, I felt far away from it all.

Crazy as it sounds, playing a gentle song with my eyes shut is like meditation to me. Some people concentrate to bring themselves to a different level of consciousness, I bring myself to solitude, usually seeing myself in the middle of nature. Clear and cool skies, soft greenery all around, barely a sound except the music in my head...it's simple like things used to be.

It felt like a long moment to get into that mindset, being reminded that living around here wasn't easy. The intrusive part of my brain was daring me to choke and fumble, make a fool of myself so they could all see who I really was. But something else spoke up in that moment. 

_And you are?..._   
_I'm MacKenzie Bourg._   
_You damn right._

Dalton was right. I was right. There was no way I could slip in this crucial moment and not have them hear me. And just like that, I could breathe again and come back to life.  
I didn't dare open my eyes until I'd twisted my voice around the final refrain, softer than I often sang it to not wear out my voice at an unlucky moment but still deep. All the faces and cameras came back crystal clear in my vision, thanks to Dalton's insistence I keep my glasses on. And his bright green eyes had to be the ones I locked with as everyone gathered started clapping and whistling.

I was aware of two different things suddenly responsible for the big grin on my face and my heart going like a marathon racer's. One was the noise of the crowd, all of that for me, liking what I'd done, giving me ecstatic relief. The other was Dalton's quiet, a soft contrast in the sea of chaos. 

It wasn't a disapproving quiet at all, a relief since just like the other night I was struck with this sudden need for approval from some you think wouldn't give an average person like me the time of day. He was smiling, but it was the things surrounding the smile that struck me then. His hands were clasped to his chest, and his eyes...it could've been the lights but they looked to me they were shining. Was he trying not to cry? Had I actually moved him that much? And the corners of his brimming eyes were crinkled because his smile was that wide. It was more than being moved, he looked...proud.

I had been dumbstruck when we first met as I was in surprise of his elegant looks, especially from his eyes, but this sensation was different. There was a strong fluttering along my pulse points, like little birds in my bloodstream desperate to get out. The filming lights still beat down on my skin, but the warmth now felt like sunshine. If I had been comfortable the first time around Dalton, there was now a sense of okayness. And when was the last time I felt that?

I was brought back to Earth by Laura rapidly clapping. "MacKenzie Bourg, everybody! Wow!" I didn't want to seem like a deer in the headlights staring at Dalton, so I looked back to her. I figured he was still gazing.

"Thank you," I felt a grin still splitting my face like Christmas morning.

"How're you feeling?"

 _That I'm on top of the world._ "Um, pretty darn good," I said instead and that made the crowd laugh, his the most noticeable. 

"Good enough to play us another?" she playfully coaxed. 

"Oh, I think I can." I adjusted a couple necessary strings and this time felt I could face the camera with my eyes more open. After a ballad, I knew a song like this, livelier and more hopeful, would leave everyone watching on a happy note. I still had my joyful days, this song coming from one of them.

_My heart is mine,  
Your heart is yours,  
All that I'm seeing is open doors..._

I noticed a few crinkled brows in the beginning, like _wait, what is this?_ , but soon there were smiles and a few gentle sways to the rhythm, and of course the crowd keeping their attention, Dalton's the most...rapt.

I wished this tune could come out of my hands and mouth exactly the way I heard it in my head, soft piano keys making another layer of melody in the background, maybe a little drum tempo to keep rhythm, but I had none of those flashes, just me and the guitar to give it all I got. Yet being more relaxed and in my performing element quickly made it less of a worry.

Being more relaxed also made the time pass quicker; before I knew it I had trailed off the final _It's time to live yours..._ and the briefest moment of silence before applause. Either I was hallucinating from the joy or the response was bordering on hysteria. 

Not that I was hallucinating Dalton smiling so wide his cheeks looked ready to roll off his face. Or that sense of okayness still lingering.

Oh man. One feeling at a time to deal with here. 

There was a little more chatter after the clapping died down, mostly on what my "plans" were. I kept casual as I said it was basically playing some more and writing new material for the moment. I'm not stupid, I knew I had a ways to go before I was allowed to start dreaming big.

After the lights were pulled down and the _ET_ cameras were being packed away, the audience came closer to me, the excited chatter still going and many of them brandishing their own small cameras. At least this time I was expecting it, but talk about a clamor.

"Excuse me..." Dalton pushed through to the front and grabbed my wrist, not that it took away any of the attention. "You all can have him in a moment, just hold up." He flashed the crowd a grin that was different from his approving smile; I figured that was what he used to charm the fans and press. It worked this time as nobody followed us when he pulled me aside.

Tugged back into reality, I found myself blinking like just waking up from a Wonderland dream. "What just happened?" I asked in a breathy surprise. But everything still felt good...

Dalton's happy expression still glowed, nothing to do with the lights after all. "You did it, Mack! That was totally awesome!"

He _was_ proud of me. Oh god. Remember the one thing at a time here. "You sure? I mean, I had that hiccup when she-"

He waved it off. "You handled that like a pro, babe. Don't sell yourself short, you know you can do all this. It's only the beginning."

Well, if he said so. "This feeling breathless is normal?" I was going to pretend that was from the whirlwind of excitement and not anything else.

"It sure is." His smile softened, it was almost...wistful. I wondered if it had really been like that for him in the beginning. I made a mental note to hit Google when I got home to see how the heck this leap from "Disney star to indie heartthrob" happened while I was living under a rock.

Dalton continued, "I gotta head over to the set to do my video diary an' everything, you'll get driven back to your place when you're done. You're okay meeting with your crowd and signing autographs an' stuff for a bit?"

I looked back over my shoulder; the cafe employees were luckily keeping the herd under control. "Yeah, I think I can handle it."

"Awesome." He squeezed my hand and there was that extra spark of okayness. "You have fun, and I'll probably talk to you soon, all right?"

"Sure." He let go and started to follow the crew outside. "Hey, Dalton?"

His smile was still wistful when he turned back. "Yeah?"

That was a smile to draw you in if you weren't careful, but I was too stuck on a performance high to care. "Thanks."


End file.
